


Boys, Interrupted

by betp



Series: Tutor!Verse [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - High School, Established Relationship, M/M, jock!Derek, nerd!stiles, unsuspecting!Sheriff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:06:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betp/pseuds/betp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I am the result of your academic ennui," Stiles summarises.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> In which Stiles and Derek just started going out, and maybe Stiles wants to sex?? I hope it works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boys, Interrupted

Stiles tugs his plaid shirt off, stripping out of it frantically. He looks like Clark Kent, with the glasses and the graphic t-shirt underneath the button-down. His isn't a Superman shirt, though. It's just got a picture of a pie. "We should role-play," he suggests, eyebrows up.

Derek stiffens, goes red. "Stiles," he grumbles, hands stilling in their quest to pull his baseball jersey off.

"I'm serious," Stiles insists. He reaches for Derek's belt, and Derek worms away from him. "It's an idea. A _suggestion_. Lots of—hey! Lots of people role-play, Judge-o."

"I'm not judging, I just—" Derek glowers. "It's our _first time_."

"So? Oh. Oh, you want it meaningful. Do you want me to cry a little. Say some emotional things. Make me _yours_ , Derek."

"You're making fun of me."

Stiles' face breaks into a smirk, all _yeah, I totally am_. "I'm sorry."

"You aren't sorry at all."

"No, I am a little. You should punish me."

" _Stiles_."

"Look, I apologise. Sincerely. It's just—I've been having dream sex with you for, like, a _year_. I'm _eager_ , I've got a lot of plans, both specific and non-specific, and all of them involve you and your offensively perfect body." He lifts his palms, hands empty. Smirking unapologetically when Derek blushes.

Derek falls forward, knocking Stiles backwards onto the bed, and Stiles bounces there under him, snickering. Derek hums thoughtfully, mouth on Stiles' neck, his throat. "A year?" he mumbles.

"A year," Stiles stresses. "I'm not even ashamed. I've been sitting behind you in history this whole time. I watch the way you daydream during lectures. I see you get visibly pissed off whenever Kate Argent laughs really loudly in the cafeteria. I passed by practice once on my way out of detention and I saw you pitch, and I just about came all over the sidewalk."

Derek is _staring—_ like, full-out jaw-dropped _staring_ at Stiles, who has the sense to flush a little, avert his eyes. Still, he tangles his fingers up in Derek's hair.

"Should I have made that clear earlier? I have such a crush on you, you have no idea."

"I," Derek says. Clears his throat, frowns. "Don't think I've never had anyone have a crush on me before."

Stiles blinks. Then he pushes Derek upright, leans up on his elbows, gives him a Look. Holds out a hand, all _and then there's this asshole_. "Derek," he says sharply, like it's its own sentence. "You're, like, two hundred pounds of solid, baseball-playing muscle. If you shave in the morning, you have five o'clock shadow at noon. You think no one's ever had a crush on you before." Derek opens his mouth to argue, but Stiles bops him in the shoulder with the heel of his hand. "The fuck is wrong with you? Where have you _been_?"

"Are you _mad_ at me?" Derek asks, voice shooting up an octave.

The flush in Stiles' cheeks is rough, almost edged. His nose goes red, too. "You're so broken!"

Derek gulps, eyes wide. "You've never _been_ mad at me before."

"I've only ever had a crush on _two_ people, in my entire _life_ , and one of them used to plot graphically all the ways she would seduce the other while I was supposed to be tutouring her. I—yeah, don't look at me like that, you're not the _first_ obscenely attractive person I'm in love with that I had to play nerd for. The best part _is_ , though, she was just faking her bad grades so Jackson _Whittemore_ would notice her. She's better at chemistry than I could ever _hope_ to be." Stiles huffs. "But the _point is_ , I had to listen to her talk about all the shit she wanted to do to you, and all I could think was, _jesus_ , now I have negative chances with the _both_ of them—and you don't even think it _happened_. Christ, you're denying two months of _torture_ I endured."

"Sorry," says Derek, nonplussed.

"You should be," Stiles sniffs.

"Lydia Martin?" Derek asks, data clicking in his mind.

"Yes, Lydia Martin. She's gorgeous and she hates me _so_ , so much. You, _you_ like me." Stiles bats his eyes up at Derek. "Which—I'll take that, I guess. My geek charm won you over, some people _like_ the skinny, mouthy type. Lydia Martin does _not_. Lydia Martin likes big, strong, athletic guys with perfect, wavy hair and kick-you-in-the-balls beautiful eyes."

Derek blinks.

"Not that Jackson Whittemore has beautiful eyes," Stiles adds in an uncharacteristic mumble.

Derek reaches up, slides Stiles' glasses off, and he abruptly goes pink, squirms as Derek folds them and pushes them onto the bedside table. Examines the colour of Stiles' eyes, how they're brown, strictly, but next to his dark lashes they look like—gold, or something. Derek doesn't care if Stiles is getting nervous, frankly; he stares at him—not with perplexion like he was a minute ago, but with an intense fascination that he's just barely starting to get used to. Stiles conjures it up; Derek's never been interested in anything as much as he's interested in Stiles. " _You_ have beautiful eyes," he tells him, and it's fucking true, okay. He's not just being a sap, it's—well, he _is_ being a sap. But he's being a _sincere_ sap, he's being _honest_. Which should get him some points. Derek murmurs, "I don't pay attention."

"No?" Stiles asks, but it's half-hearted. His eyes track Derek's thumb as it swipes gently along Stiles' lower lip.

"At least at school, I don't. I hate school," Derek says. "Everyone was so fucking excited for junior year, upperclassmen at _last_. But all I could think in August was, _fuck_. I'd rather just stay the hell _home_. And then I blew off history one too many times, and _you_ came along."

"I am the result of your academic ennui," Stiles summarises.

"I guess you could see it that way."

"How do you see it."

"You are my fucking muse," Derek replies, grimacing because it's stupid, and it's true, and it's _stupid_. "You know I started to enjoy history because of your dumb ass? The only thing I really liked about school was lunchtime and baseball, and then I started studying with you during lunchtime and watching the clock during baseball. I had no idea what you were doing to me until I passed the test, and then I realised I'd have lunch and baseball back. It was like being told I won't have to put up with steak dinners anymore, because now I'll have _bologna_ back."

Stiles snorts. "I _like_ bologna," he says petulantly.

Derek huffs, "So do I. But I'd rather have steak."

"I'm steak," Stiles says, smiling small and playful and sweet. "Right? The steak is me."

"You've unraveled my metaphor," Derek says.

"That was actually a simile. Because you said the word 'like,' which makes it a compari—"

Derek cuts him off with a kiss, and Stiles seems to keep talking for a second, and then groan and melt into it. Fingers back in Derek's hair. One leg curling around his. Between them, Stiles' hands slide down, grasp Derek's belt. Derek shivers, pulls back. Watches him undo the buckle, get his zipper down.

"You ever had sex with a guy before me?" Stiles asks, voice low.

Derek inhales sharply, and then shakes his head.

"Kissed one, then?"

Another head shake.

"Aw, Der," Stiles says softly, smiling toothily at him. "Aren't you just the sweetest."

"Yeah, yeah," Derek grumbles. "You gonna touch my dick or just dream about it?"

"Bossy," Stiles says, eyebrows up, feigning shock. "I'm gonna touch your dick," he adds, nodding, eyes on Derek's face. "Just for the purpose of clarification. I'm gonna make you come. Probably fuck you, if you let me."

He grins wolfishly, starts to push a hand into Derek's boxers—and then the door opens, the sheriff goes, "Oh," and Stiles goes, "Dad?" and Derek falls off the bed like a tipped cow.

**Author's Note:**

> lol get it 
> 
> Don't worry, they have sex eventually.


End file.
